


The Royal Engagement

by colormyheartred



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Modern Royalty, Princess Diaries - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 08:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8616067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colormyheartred/pseuds/colormyheartred
Summary: The Princess Diaries 2 AU nobody asked me for.





	

Emma Swan-Nolan, after a whirlwind reunion with her parents during her senior year of high school, a reunion that ultimately resulted in her realizing her true identity as the Princess of Misthaven, sits staring out at the land her parents had fought so hard to keep theirs.

From 30,000 feet, the castle seems small, but she’s been here before, to Misthaven, and she knows how grand it truly is. Her parents had lost her during the War of Darkness, a trade gone drastically, drastically awry, and they’d come to America to find her, finally, when she turned 17.

It had taken a few weeks, but she eventually gave into their warm smiles and teary-eyed expressions. She embraced them and _trusted_ for once in her life, and it hadn’t come back to bite her. Not yet, at least.

She’d left behind her best friend Elsa, and Elsa’s younger sister Anna. They’d gone to school together in Maine for all four years of high school, and then four years of college.

Now, armed with a degree that basically says she’s going to be queen one day, Emma comes back to Misthaven for once and for all, ready to settle in and start taking her place as the rightful heir.

While it isn’t exactly the most appealing of lifestyles, before, she’d been living in a shithole of a girls home with no one to call family and no real perspectives for her life after school except maybe trying to become a bail bondsperson.

(To be clear, Elsa had been against this idea- had insisted upon her trying a more conventional route- but when you’ve spent your life running and waiting, being put into prison overnight for petty theft a handful of times- then you kind of get down on the system.)

She’s not nervous, not at all, when she enters the castle. Her parents are waiting for her, all wide smiles and excited hugs.

“I’m so glad you’re _home_.” Her mother sighs.

“Me too.”

Her father soon follows, his scent strong when she breathes him in, and she laughs when he tells her he thinks she’s grown.

“It’s only been a week since you left Maine. I doubt it.”

Her mother frowns. “And we’re so sorry we couldn’t help you pack up. There was an emergency-”

“I know,” Emma smiles coolly. “I get that being rulers of a small kingdom must be one emergency after another. I totally understand. At least you were there when I graduated, right?”

Her parents both smile proudly at one another, then at her. “You are going to make a wonderful queen, Emma.”

..

In celebration of Emma’s twenty-first birthday, on her very first night at the castle, her parents decide to throw her a ball.

Now, as is custom in Misthaven, the princess is supposed to dance with every eligible bachelor in the kingdom and surrounding kingdoms on her twenty-first birthday and, well, she hates the idea.

She does it to appease to her mother, though, who helps her get dressed and swoons over every little detail. Emma laughs and smiles, more than she ever really has before, and she’s actually _quite_ happy to be home.

_Home-_ what a foreign concept. For so long it had been difficult for her to even consider anyone family. Now she has family, friendships, and an entire _kingdom_ to call home.

Emma makes small talk with everyone who wishes to- which is pretty much every single person in the room. She gets overwhelmed easily, but thankfully, there’s dancing to keep her distracted from the line of questioning from duke of this or princess of that.

Most of the men she dances with are actually terrible at it. One man steps on her feet, another doesn’t know what he’s doing with his arms, and there’s this twelve-year-old boy who insists upon dancing with her and _flirting_ as he does it.

Her eyes blow wide and she finds someone to sympathize with her- a gentleman with shining blue eyes and a dazzling smile. She finds him kind, and while she hasn’t ever met him, nor seen him before, she thinks he could be a friend if she did.

Before the song can even be finished, Mr. Blue Eyes taps the boy on his shoulder and swoops in, his hands warm when he takes one of hers and settles his other against her side.

“My hero,” Emma swoons teasingly.

He laughs, a hearty sound that brings a genuine smile to her lips. “I merely am _finally_ getting my dance with Your Highness. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Emma hums.

The way he stares at her, with crinkles by the corners of his eyes and his smile so sweet, she can’t help but feel appreciated. He has the beginnings of a beard, dark stubble on his jaw and cheeks. He has what she can only presume to be the softest head of floppy, messy hair atop his head, and when she steps on his foot, he doesn’t jump or put her down.

He clicks his tongue in his cheek. “My foot.”

Emma sighs. “Sorry. I was just-” Truth be told, she was caught up in the color of his eyes, wondering if she could learn more about him- _desperately_ wanting to- when her foot moved on it’s own to stomp his.

“It’s alright,” he promises softly. “I’ve danced with far worse.”

Emma scoffs. “Good to know I’m not the only princess you’ve tried to sweep off her feet.”

Her companion lifts an eyebrow. “Jealous?”

She laughs. “Not at all.”

He eyes her over, his tongue dancing over his lip slightly. “Well, I suppose _I_ might be.”

“What for?”

“You’ve danced with every gentleman in the room,” he supplies, “and you’re the only one I’ve had my eyes on all evening.”

It takes her breath away.

The music stops, but he still holds her, their chests brushing as they breathe. He stares into her eyes and she can’t manage to break away from him until she hears someone calling for her.

If there were such a thing as fairytales, she thinks this shared moment between them might be as magical as any- definite qualifiers for their own novelization and movie rights. Definitely.

..

The day after the ball, she might scream, just a little, when she enters her bedroom for the first time- scratch that, it’s a _freaking suite_ \- and _Elsa_ is standing there, her bag still hanging from her shoulder, and a smile on her lips.

And she might scream, no she definitely does scream, when she stumbles into a secret passageway that leads her to a wall behind Parliament.

Grouchy old men are trying to tell her mother that because Emma is now officially 21, she’s legally permitted to take the throne whenever she’d like, and there are _laws_ against it, you know- _a Queen must be married before she can take the throne-_ and her mother stands up for her- _Emma doesn’t need a man to rule Misthaven, she’s smart and she can do this, just as I have before her-_ but ultimately one man announces that his _nephew_ is also in line to inherit the throne and because he’s already 21 and is _male_ he can claim it whenever _he_ wishes.

So, at the end of a long, laborious conversation with her mother, Emma stares at the portraits hanging in the throne room and then at the salt-and-pepper tint of her mother’s hair, her heart filling with an ache because generations of her family has ruled over Misthaven and it isn’t _fair_ that anyone else would take that from them.

And, damn it, she has wanted this. Ever since she first came to the castle years ago with her parents during summer vacation of her senior year of high school. She has grown to love this place, and yes, she doesn’t understand some of the people that live in the kingdom, but she’s learning. She just wants to prove it to herself that she is that _princess_ her parents worked so hard to get her to believe she is.

“Emma, I know you want to marry for love,” her mother says, “so you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Emma straightens her back and squares her shoulders, shaking her head. “No, I want to do it. I don’t want some idiot claiming the throne.” She pauses. “And, anyway, it isn’t like I have had boyfriend after boyfriend. I’m destined for pretty much anything but True Love at this point, Mom.”

Mary Margaret sighs. It’s clear that the queen has her own doubts about this. “Well, as long as this is what you want.”

Her mother leaves even more room for Emma to back out of it, but Emma just nods. “It is.”

“Okay. Then, let’s have a look at some candidates. We only have thirty days to get you married, so we’ll have to act fast.”

..

“Emma, what do you think about this one?” Elsa asks, pointing at the profile on her iPhone screen.

Emma rips her eyes away from the computer in front of her and only catches a glimpse of the man on Elsa’s phone. She cringes. “Who is he?”

Elsa narrows her eyes and searches the profile. “He is… the duke of some little kingdom nearby.”

“And he’s about ninety years old. No thank you.”

Elsa laughs. “You’re right.”

Emma’s mother, from Emma’s other side, points at the computer screen. “Oh, look. His name is Graham. He’s the Duke of Kenilworth. He’s young.”

Emma studies the screen for a moment. Graham, Duke of Kenilworth, is into flying his private jet, photography, and animals, as well as spending quality time in the woods.

She thinks he’s _kinda_ cute, in that there’s-something-off-here sort of way, but at least he isn’t ninety and he isn’t twelve. Graham would be a smart move, a practical one, and because he’s politically savvy.

“I think we should give him a try,” Mary Margaret says.

Emma bites at her lip and looks between her mother and her best friend.

Elsa smiles when Emma stares at her for some semblance of approval or disapproval. “He’s cute. And smart. He graduated from Oxford. I think we have our Prince Charming.”

..

And it’s settled, just like that. Emma will be meeting with Graham, the Duke of Kenilworth, whose family has been notified of her interest in an arranged marriage. He’d replied positively, apparently, when he found out she was interested in forging an alliance with his family and kingdom.

Come the morning of their first official meeting, Emma goes downstairs to meet with her mother, who smiles at her.

“Good morning, Emma,” she sighs.

“Morning. What are we doing?”

Her mother pivots on her heel and turns toward the doors. “We are about to welcome Lord Killian Jones and his uncle, Viscount Arthur to the castle for the rest of the month.”

“What?” Emma furrows her brow. “Shouldn’t we want to keep them as far away from the castle as possible?”

Mary Margaret gives her a little smile. “I was thinking that if they were here, I could keep a better eye on them. This way, I can gauge better how we’re doing with the arranged marriage. If they want to make any moves against us, we’ll know about it before it can be done.”

Emma, never ceasing to be surprised with her mother, nods in approval. “Smart, Mom. I’m impressed.”

“Your father thought so too.”

It’s then that the arrival of their guests is announced. Emma turns, expecting to see some old guy with a conniving grin, but instead, her heart stops at the sight of Mr. Blue Eyes himself.

He smiles softly at her, seeming a little bit apprehensive, and Emma just blurts out the obvious, “ _You’re_ the guy that wants the throne?”

“Yes, indeed,” Arthur says for his nephew.

Emma feels betrayed, mostly, but then she feels sorry for Killian, because at the end of the day, he isn’t going to get the throne, and his uncle is _still_ going to be a complete asshat.

And if she _happens_ to stomp on Killian’s foot, this time it isn’t an accident. It’s because she’s pissed that her dreams from the past few nights have been crushed by the same man that had haunted them.

..

Graham is a complete Actual Nice Guy. He smiles and he bows and he keeps quiet until he has something thoughtful to say. He doesn’t deserve this arranged marriage, to be honest, but Emma knows that there are those who believe the same of her.

He kisses her knuckles and she feels absolutely nothing, but she doesn’t let it bother her, because they’re together for diplomatic reasons, and maybe someday, they’ll come to consider each other friends.

They play badminton in the gardens outside of the castle and she falls over trying to hit the shuttlecock back to her opponent. He laughs, a sweet little sound, and rushes to her side to help her back up. When he realizes that she can’t move her ankle quite well enough, he rushes over to the cooler to grab a bag of ice.

She thinks it’s very sweet of him to care.

They go strolling around the castle property and talk, and she thinks he’s a good friend, but he might not necessarily be an ideal husband, at least not for her. When they find themselves near a bench, he asks her to sit, and she does, not prepared _at all_ for what he’s about to do.

He has a ring in his pocket and he holds it out to her, telling her that it’s his grandmother’s, that she got it from her grandmother- and so on and so forth until Emma is fairly certain his furthest ancestor _was_ this sparkling diamond ring.

Emma accepts it, because she has no choice. She’s going to be his wife in a few weeks, so she may as well wear his ancestor on her finger.

..

She’s sitting on the steps in the front atrium writing in her diary in a peaceful silence. Her maids- _honestly_ \- she loves them but they can be a handful. Emma glances down at her ring, studying it, thinking about _Graham_ and how he’s going back home for a quick meeting before flying right back to Misthaven.

It’s peaceful, until _he_ shows up, all mostly-buttoned up dress shirt that exposes _just_ a little chest hair and, of course, his trademarked messy hair. He smiles, genuinely, and raises an eyebrow.

“What have we here?” he asks, approaching the step she sits.

Emma gathers up her book and stands. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

He hums, and somehow they end up standing far too close to one another, close enough that she can smell his cologne- _God_ why does even _that_ have to be perfect?

“Having second thoughts?” he asks, teasing her.

Emma gives him a look. “No. Of course not.”

She starts up the steps, clutching her book close. She continues to walk, but Killian corners her in against the railing and she has no choice but to step down the stairs and go to the mirroring set along the opposite wall.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she says. “I have a wedding to plan.”

He hums again. “To the Duke of Kenilworth,” he says, “What’s his name? Stan?”

“Graham,” Emma all but rolls her eyes. She avoids looking at him for too long, but does stare, and a small smirk twitches at his lips.

He climbs the mirroring set of stairs along with her and she stops, turning to him. “Was there something you wanted, or are you just here to bother me?”

“No, no,” he insists. “I’ve merely come for conversation.”

“Well, I’m afraid I’m not a conversationalist.”

“No?” he asks. “You just like stepping on gentlemen’s feet while you dance with them, then?”

Emma scoffs. “Please. I didn’t do it on purpose. And anyway, _you_ danced with _me_. You didn’t mind it.”

It’s then that they reach the top landing and meet in the middle. Killian tilts his head to the side and shrugs. “It was only a minute.”

For a second, she blanches- and _no_ , she hasn’t thought about that _dance_ , hasn’t _daydreamed_ about how breathtaking it had been, hasn’t pretended to dance in her bedroom with one of those giant teddy bears she’d received for her birthday- “No, it wasn’t a minute. It was a minute and a half.”

“Fine, a minute and a half,” her enemy says.

“That’s not much time,” she tells him. “I don’t know why you’re complaining about my stepping on your feet if you’re the one who lied about who he was.”

“I didn’t lie,” he says, appearing more annoyed than anything.

“You lied by omission when you didn’t tell me who you were. It’s the same basic principle.”

Killian stares at her for a moment. “Princess, tell me something,” he leans in closer, magnetizing her until she can’t breathe. “Would you do it over again if you knew who I was?”

Emma opens her mouth to say something- _anything_ , because anything at this point would be good- but she can’t speak. He has rendered her speechless, and that is a feat no man has been able to achieve.

In return, Lord Killian Jones, rivaling heir to the throne, smirks, but he doesn’t say anything. Emma isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but she doesn’t have time to think too much on it, because she hears someone coming down the hall.

Emma steps around him. “I’m onto you, Jones. I’m onto you and your _scheme_.”

“What scheme?” he asks, making her spin around as she walks.

She raises an eyebrow. “You and I both know what you’re doing.”

His smirk comes back and he steps toward her, until there’s practically no space between them. “Why don’t you tell me?”

He’s staring at her lips and she’d like to smack him but she’s staring at his lips, too, and then there’s a moment where Emma forgets that he’s trying to take the throne from her family.

“I think…” she says, finally looking up at his eyes again. “That you’re a pirate.”

“A pirate,” he laughs, and Emma can breathe again. She steps away from him, holding her head high.

“Yes. A pirate.”

He watches her step backward, and she licks her lips when he says, “I prefer dashing rapscallion.”

Emma spins back around, just in time to meet the eyes of her parents’ advisor, Granny, who arches an eyebrow at her. “Watch yourself,” is all she says, and Emma holds her breath, finally feeling the weight of an engagement ring on her finger again.

..

Emma’s mother has continued teaching her the ways of royalty, having her learn all sorts of ridiculous methods of walking and how she should carry herself.

At the beginning of her tutelage, she’d been a complete disaster, so much so that her own mother had almost given up hope. But, she hadn’t. And now, Emma has at least a faint idea of how she’s supposed to act as Princess of Misthaven.

They sit together in the throne room and listen to requests from the people of the kingdom. Emma actually manages to surprise her mother when one of the people asks her for something and she knows exactly what to do and say and how to present herself.

So, maybe all of that hard work is paying off, after all.

And it isn’t just queen lessons. For her coronation ceremony, she’ll be shooting a flaming arrow through a ring, so her mother has been teaching her how to fire an arrow.

It isn’t terribly difficult, and Emma makes the shot almost every time, much to her mother’s approval. Mostly, the time practicing in the garden is spent trying to out shoot one another through bouts of laughter and teasing.

When Emma meets with her mother, the woman tells her that she’ll have to ride a horse sidesaddle in order to complete a simple princessly duty- reviewing the Royal Guard.

She panics, but her mother laughs, then shows her a tool that has Emma chuckling, lifting an eyebrow, and telling her that she’s tricky.

Of course, not everything goes according to plan. Minutes into her ride, her horse Buttercup spies a snake and bucks wildly, until Emma’s trick wooden leg is revealed to the watching public, as well as both Graham _and_ Killian.

She runs in embarrassment, not sure what else she can do, because _how is she supposed to even breathe if she can’t ride her horse in a straight line_?

Emma finds herself in the stables, taking deep breaths while she cries, and just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse, who walks in but the pirate himself: Killian Jones.

He frowns deeply, crossing the room to stand beside her. “Emma,”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” she demands.

His brow creases sorrowfully. “I know you think it’s the end of the world, but I assure you it isn’t. You shouldn’t hide. Just think- one more leg and you could’ve outrun your horse.”

Emma would roll her eyes, but she doesn’t have the energy. She scoffs instead. “Of course you’re here to make jokes. All you care about is yourself.”

“That isn’t true, Emma, I was just-” he says, but he’s interrupted when her father comes into the stable.

“Emma, are you alright?”

“I- I’ll be fine,” she promises. “I just needed a minute.”

Her father eyes Killian and then tilts his head toward the door. “Your mother’s outside. If you want to talk to her.”

Emma swallows and nods. “Okay.”

..

The garden party is something of a breath of fresh air. Emma sits with Graham and they enjoy entertainment from a variety of Misthaven’s greatest talents.

There’s food and there’s chatter and Emma actually remembers people, able to ask questions about their lives, and she knows her mother is _so_ proud because she keeps smiling at her and pressing her hand against Emma’s arm.

It’s not all fun and games, however, because Elsa spots, as she says, “Oh, Emma, look who’s here. The King Wannabe.”

Emma snorts, watching as Killian approaches the party with a blonde on his arm. “Who’s that he has with him?”

“I have no idea, but I have a feeling she’s not a girlfriend. Killian Jones isn’t the type that has _girlfriends_.”

It becomes a battle between them later, when Emma walks over to him with Graham at her side. They compare each other’s significant other, and before long, they’re left to their own devices, wandering toward the fountain while they argue snarkily, having succeeded in scaring off their dates.

“It’s a shame you’re not attracted to him,” he’d said.

“Excuse me?” she’d demanded, walking after him when he charged forward.

They end up standing right in front of the fountain while she says, “I think you’re just jealous.”

“Why would I be jealous of him?” he asks, slightly annoyed. “He’s marrying _you_.”

“Oh, as if that would be the end of the world.”

“I dunno. You did step on my foot twice. Who knows what else that might mean about you.”

Emma rolls her eyes, stepping close to him with her chest pushed out as she breathes in short, shallow breaths. She searches his eyes and shakes her head, feeling more annoyed than anything. She just wants him off her back. “I loathe you.”

He widens his eyes. “I loathe _you_.”

She scoffs, offended that he’d even _dare_. “I loathed you first.”

And then- she’s not even sure _how_ on Earth it ends up _happening_ \- and then, she pulls him toward her, her hands gripping his suit jacket tight, and kisses him.

Yep. She kisses the man who wants her throne.

It’s not even a bad kiss, not in the slightest. He kisses her with a fierce passion, as if he’s been _waiting_ for his opportunity, and now that he has it, he isn’t going to just let her be.

His hand settles on her hip and it reminds her of that night they’d danced- and she’s _not_ thinking about how perfect this moment is, how perfect this kiss is, she absolutely _is not_.

Her foot lifts just a little, up from the ground, until she’s balanced on one foot, her one true sign of a _Good Damn Kiss._

They keep moaning against each other and her nose brushes against his cheek a few times before she snaps back into reality: she is engaged and he is the _enemy here_!

Emma shoves herself back and gapes at him. “What are you doing?” she demands.

He gives her a confused look. “You were the one that kissed me first!”

“Oh, don’t give me that. You would have-” Emma rambles on, and she doesn’t even know what she was trying to argue at this point because all she can taste is _him_ and she wants more- _crap._

“Do you want to kiss me again, is that what you’re saying?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow playfully.

Emma gapes at him. “What? No!”

“I think you do!” he all but laughs. “It _was_ a good kiss. I can’t blame you.”

And then- _somehow-_ she lands in the water of the fountain, and somehow he does too, and they’re both soaked to the bone, dripping, sopping wet.

He hands her her floppy hat and she rips it out of his hand, scowling at him. “Pirate.”

..

Emma’s mother gives her an earful about making such public displays around with a man while she’s _betrothed_ to another, but Emma finds it ridiculous and complains about her mother being so concerned.

Killian Jones is nothing for her to worry about, after all.

He’s just- _dashingly handsome_ and an extremely good kisser.

..

The parade is yet another rite of passage for Princess Emma. She’s put in a carriage with her parents and she’s supposed to wave and smile, and she does, but when she notices a group of children standing on the sidewalk, no parents to be seen, while a few boys pick on a little girl that reminds Emma so much of herself at that age, she asks to stop everything.

Emma approaches them with her eyebrows raised. She kneels down to be at their level and asks the little girl for her name, then scolds the boys for their misbehavior, and she’s told they won’t do it again.

She makes sure all of the children standing there without anyone to belong to get free tiaras and noisemakers and then has them march along with her in the parade, smiling and waving to all of the people of Misthaven.

Her mother smiles softly when she looks at her, and Emma’s heart feels heavy when she finds out that the children are homeless due to budgetary restraints restricting the building of an orphanage for them.

It’s her first project as princess- creating a children’s home out of the winter castle. Some members of parliament loathe her decision, but she does manage to get it passed.

Thanks to her, no children will be homeless on the streets of Misthaven.

When she emerges from the meeting with parliament members, she runs into Killian Jones, but nothing can shake her high of elation, so she doesn’t mind it when he asks to speak with her.

“I heard about the children’s home,” he tells her, smiling warmly. “I’m very impressed, Your Highness. Congratulations.”

Emma smiles in return. “Thank you.” 

He studies her for a moment. “I saw you, during the parade,” he says lowly. She sees something in his eyes that she almost wishes she didn’t, but is secretly glad to see. “Your kindness is something to be admired, love.”

Her heart races. “Thank you.” He smiles and she does too. And suddenly, she wants to share _everything_ with him. Because he’s her friend, she knows it now- even if she thinks they both might wish for more than just that. “It’s my bridal shower tonight. We invited a bunch of princesses from everywhere and there’s going to be a slumber party.”

His smile spreads and he lifts his eyebrows. “Sounds like a blast.”

Emma shrugs. “I’m kind of excited. I’ve heard rumors of mattress sliding.”

Killian hums. “Enjoy it, love. It sounds like fun.”

They stare at one another for a few long, lingering seconds, and she realizes that even though she hates him, she’s finding it increasingly more difficult to.

Well, maybe she hasn’t ever hated him.

Maybe she’s always liked him quite a bit more than she should even if they were under normal circumstances.

..

The bridal shower _is_ fun. There’s mattress sliding, there’s dancing, there’s sweets and hot chocolate, and there’s singing. There are stories exchanged well past midnight and there’s no shortage of a delicious breakfast come morning.

But, as fun as it is, Emma has to get back to work.

She heads out into the garden to practice her bow and arrow for her coronation ceremony and as she’s firing away, Elsa and Graham at her side, _just who_ should be standing there but _Killian_.

Elsa takes Graham back inside as Killian approaches her and Emma tilts her head at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I saw you practicing,” he explains. “I thought, perhaps, I could give you a few tips to make it easier?”

Emma laughs. “I’m not _that_ bad, am I?”

He shrugs. “Fine, if you don’t want my help-” He trails off as he turns to walk away and Emma grabs him by the arm, meeting his eyes.

“Whaddya got, Pirate?”

He grins.

And, yes, she’s seen enough movies to know when a guy is making a move on her.

He stands behind her, touches her arm to show her how she should position it, and he keeps his voice low, close to her ear, and his heat is so very _real_ behind her that she can feel butterflies in her belly when his fingers trail along the skin of her shoulder.

“Like this?” she plays along.

He nods, she sees it in the corner of her vision. “Aye. Just like this.”

When she shoots the arrow off, it goes straight into the bulls eye of the practice ring. Emma can’t help but smile a little before she turns to Killian.

He’s standing so close to her, her shoulder pressed against his chest, their faces so _stupidly_ close, and all Emma wants to do is kiss him again, but she knows better. She’s engaged. She’s going to become queen. She can’t let Killian Jones get into her head to derail her plans in order to steal the throne from her- it’s just not going to happen.

But it’s nice to smell him, nice to watch the sunlight warm his skin, nice to feel as if she is the most treasured and valued person in the world to him by the way he stares at her.

“How does it feel?” he asks softly. “You did it.”

“Wonderful,” she replies.

A moment later, they separate. Killian stares at her thoughtfully, then shakes his head. “I have to go. I- I only came over to tell you that.”

Emma’s heart sinks. “You’re leaving?”

“I think it’s time I bow out gracefully. Don’t you?”

Emma nods. She watches him as he extends his hand and she takes it, the feeling of his thumb swiping over the back of her knuckles more than enough to send fireworks up her skin from the place he touches her.

He steps away from her and she doesn’t know what she’s doing, but she _doesn’t_ want him to leave. She turns toward him, but she doesn’t get to say anything. He comes back to her, his hand on her wrist.

“Emma,” he says, breathlessly searching her eyes. “I wish to see you again. Might I have the opportunity later on tonight? Before I go?”

Emma stares at him, contemplating the hours of lectures she’s bound to receive if she agrees, but those thoughts ultimately are trumped out, because she stares at him and all she sees is honesty, that he truly wants to see her for her, and he doesn’t care about some fool’s errand that he’s been running- trying to steal the crown from her.

“I don’t know. Security’s pretty tight.”

At that moment, as if to prove a point, a member of her security detail approaches her, Leroy, and she lifts an eyebrow on a sigh. “See?”

Killian smiles at her in that dashing, yet impossibly sweet and timid, way of his. “I’ll find a way.”

..

Elsa is the one to come to her in a hurried, excited manner. She smiles widely at her as she enters Emma’s bedroom, just shy of being out of breath. “Emma. You have to look out your window.”

“What?” Emma asks, furrowing her brow.

“Just do it.” Elsa sighs.

Emma stands up from the couch, setting her diary down, before she heads to the window with Elsa hot on her heels.

Lo and behold, Killian stands on the grass below her window, throwing pebbles up at the window in gentle _chinks_. Emma rolls her eyes and opens the window so she can whisper-yell at him, “What the hell are you doing?”

“I told you I’d find a way,” he says in reply.

Emma turns to Elsa, who merely lifts an eyebrow. “He is determined. I’ll give him that.”

Emma sighs, turning back to Killian. “What do you want?”

“Come down,” he says. “I want to take you on a walk.”

Emma widens her eyes. “You want me to climb down the side of the castle.”

He shrugs. “Have any better ideas, love? Because I couldn’t find a ladder anywhere near here.”

Emma bites on her lip and Elsa just nudges her. “Go for it.” Emma turns to her best friend. “You like him, Emma. There isn’t any denying that.”

“Yes, but I’m _engaged_. To _Graham_.”

Elsa sets her hands on Emma’s forearms, giving her a stern look in her eyes. “Listen. You’re going to be married in a week and you’re not going to be allowed to do things like this ever again. If you do it, you won’t be left wondering what would have happened if you did.”

And maybe it’s that, or maybe it’s the look on Killian’s face, but Princess Emma does something she has only done a handful of times in her life- she climbs the lattice beside her window to land herself in the grass.

Looking up, Elsa grins at her. “I’ll wait up for you.”

“Okay.”

Turning to Killian, Emma feels breathless again. She smiles. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

When he extends his hand to her, all pretenses of this being a bad idea fade away, because right now, all she wants is to know him and be with him.

..

He takes her to a little lake not too far from the castle. They sit under a tree, atop a blanket, and because they are apparently still in middle school, they thumb wrestle.

Oh yeah, if their story was a fairytale, they’d _definitely_ get made into a movie. Because nothing says romantic first-slash-last date like thumb wrestling under the glow of moonlight.

“Tell me something about yourself,” he says as her thumb avoids his.

“What do you want to know?”

“What’s your favorite cereal?”

Emma laughs. “I don’t know. Lucky Charms?”

“Do you only eat it for the marshmallows?”

“Why?” Emma asks as her thumb presses his down. She lifts an eyebrow. “Do you?”

Killian chuckles. “You caught me.”

Emma laughs, victorious in more ways than one.

They talk more, about what it’s like to be royalty, about her transition from America to Misthaven. They talk about rude members of Parliament and about their hopes and dreams. He manages to get her to talk about her life as an orphan and she doesn’t cry- she _absolutely_ does- when Killian tells her about his past.

They’re more alike than she’d thought, both of them having lost so much only to realize their true identities later on in life.

They start thumb wrestling again and banter back and forth _secrets_ about themselves, until Killian says, “I haven’t danced with you since your birthday.”

“That’s a fact,” Emma points out. “Not a secret.”

He smiles softly, his eyes dancing in the moonlight. “The secret is that I still want to.”

So, maybe their secret moonlit dalliance is more than just a _little_ romantic.

He holds her close as they sway gently to the music in their heads and Emma tries so desperately to not get caught up in the way he’s staring at her, but she senses it- she’s sensed it for a while, has even flirted with the idea herself- that he might be in love with her.

They get so close that their foreheads bump and she doesn’t even care.

She’s ridiculous and she knows it. She’s engaged to Graham, Duke of Kenilworth, and she’s dancing with Lord Killian Jones, unofficial heir to the throne, under the glow of the moon and a million billion stars.

She could quite possibly get lost in the depth of his eyes, or the warmth of his skin. And maybe she does.

..

Somehow- in a way that definitely, absolutely, was _not_ the result of _Emma_ snuggling up next to him under that big tree- Emma awakes in the early morning hours with her head and hand pressed against Killian’s chest. Her head is tucked so contentedly under his chin and he breathes in deep, seemingly waking as she does.

“Mm,” he mumbles. “Good morning.”

Emma smiles, feeling perhaps just a bit giddier than normal- and it’s _not_ because she’s in _love_ with him, absolutely _not_ , are you kidding?

“Hi. Good morning.” He’s holding her hand in his and their legs are a little tangled, and he strokes over her hair. And this is good and right and she wants _more_ of this already. “We stayed out all night.”

He smiles, sighing sleepily. “Yes, we did.”

Emma gasps, sitting upright. “We stayed out all night.”

Shock only lasts for a few seconds. It had been a _good_ use of a night; if they’d been so exhausted they couldn’t manage to make it back in time. She laughs in spite of it all, and it encourages his gentle chuckle.

And maybe if it were easier, the lump wouldn’t lodge itself into her throat, but it’s difficult, this thing between them, because she’s due to be married and he’s, well, he’s been the center of her internal struggle for weeks now.

Emma still isn’t sure about him, to be honest, but all she knows is he cares quite a deal about her. He wouldn’t want to hurt her. And maybe it could be easy, right? They could get Parliament to lift the time frame and they could do this the right way- courtship, engagement, and marriage someday down the line. She could be queen and not worry about restrictions.

Well, that’s what she thinks until she sees the paparazzi taking video of them under the tree.

..

Her mother is there when she sees the footage on TV. She frowns at the video, then turns off the TV and sits beside Emma on her couch, brushing back her hair.

“Do you… love him?”

Emma meets her mother’s eyes and tears suddenly come forward. She bites on her lip and shakes her head. “I thought- maybe-”

Her mother nods in understanding and wraps her arms around her, holding her close. “Shhh. It’s alright. It’s alright.”

“He was so _different_ ,” Emma explains.

“He was,” Elsa agrees, entering the area with a mug of fresh hot chocolate for Emma. “But I guess we thought wrong of him.”

Emma pulls away from her mother and takes the hot chocolate from her best friend, wrapping her hands around it.

“Graham will probably find out soon,” Mary Margaret sighs. “What do you think you’ll say?”

..

“I’m sorry. Nothing happened, I swear.”

“No, I don’t care about that,” Graham tells her. “The fact is, you went with him. You went.”

Emma stares at her fiancé, sees how frustrated he is, and fidgets with his grandmother’s ring wrapped around her finger. “I’m sorry,” she offers again.

Graham sighs, then looks down at his feet. “I still think this is a good idea for us. Getting married.”

Emma watches him meet her eyes again and then he slowly steps forward, cupping her face in his hands. When he kisses her, it’s unremarkable. Completely and utterly bland. Not a feeling to be heard from a mile away.

When he pulls back, he tilts his head at her. “Nothing,” they both say at the same time. Then, they laugh.

Emma sighs when reality hits her- that he could easily walk away now. He has reason to- she went on a secret date with Killian and their kiss certainly didn’t seal the deal between them.

But he doesn’t.

No, instead of leaving, Graham comes alongside her and tells her he’ll _stay_. “You’ll make an incredible queen and I’ll be here to watch you lead.”

Emma smiles ever so slightly and wraps her arms around him, needing comfort that he provides so sweetly.

..

The moment Emma begins to walk the aisle on her wedding day, panic sets in.

This is _not_ how she wants to spend the rest of her life- settling on some Duke because the law says so. She wants to be herself, wants to be allowed basic freedom and be allowed to rule Misthaven on her own, _without_ being married.

And that’s what she announces to the members of Parliament sitting in the first three rows. After a quick discussion with Graham- that she’s so, so sorry but she _can’t_ do this- she marches up to the podium and announces her first motion as Princess- her own freedom.

Viscount Arthur rises from his place in the pew and denounces the idea, but he’s interrupted by another voice- Killian.

He stares at her for a moment, a soft look on his face, a heartbroken expression. “I don’t want the crown. I refuse it. Princess Emma is the rightful heir and I won’t let myself be qualified.”

Emma’s heart rate picks up and she feels tears burning behind her eyes, because his words so completely conflict with the idea she’d had that _he_ had asked for the paparazzi to film them in their intimate morning slumber.

Killian meets her eyes one last time and then he bows out gracefully, not to be seen again, as his uncle storms out of the church.

When the motion is passed without any further objection, her mother, with a weepy look on her face, rushes up to her and embraces her, and Emma can only think back to the conversation they’d had in the minutes before, when Emma had panicked and run straight out of the church and into a sitting area.

“I don’t know why I can’t do this. I’m so sorry. I can do this, Mom, I swear. I just-”

“No, Emma,” she’d taken her hands, shaking her head. “Don’t do this. If he doesn’t make you happy- if this _choice_ won’t make you _happy_ \- then I don’t want you to do this. Listen to your heart, Emma. Follow it.”

..

On the day of her coronation, Emma sits in her throne, deeply entrenched in thought. Of her future, mostly, and what it will hold. There will be so much weight on her shoulders now, even more than before, but her parents believe so much in her, and they’re going to be here with her, willing to help if she needs it, so it isn’t as if she’s alone.

But there’s something missing.

She wonders all too often about Killian, if his feelings for her suddenly changed after announcing his intentions to not take the crown. She wonders if the lingering glances, the tender touches, or the secrets whispered between them and the stars meant nothing to him. She wonders if he’s moved on and found himself someone else- in which case she’s ready to hunt him down and have him tortured for his cruel behavior.

Her thoughts of him are interrupted. By _him._

He enters the room wearing his best suit and it feels just like it had that night under the stars. Intimate. _Theirs_.

“Killian,” she says his name on a breath and a smile twitches at the corners of his lips, but he doesn’t let a grin break out just yet.

“If I may be so bold, I would like an audience with Her Highness.” He tells her.

Emma gestures to the space before her throne and sits upright, her heart beating much faster now. “What is your dilemma, young man?” She plays along.

“You are.” Killian says it with an unwavering expression and then falls to one knee, taking a breath before he continues evenly, “I am in love with the Queen-to-be and I am inquiring if she loves me too.”

His words make her want to strangle him at first- because how _dare_ he spend so long flirting with her only to leave and come back on the day of her coronation with such a declaration?

But then her heart feels light and heavy at the same time and she has to bite on her tongue to keep from squealing. Unexpected tears come to her eyes and she doesn’t know what to say, so she rises to her feet and steps up to him, pulling him to stand with her.

He gazes at her, a soft smile spreading across his face.

“I’m sorry I thought you would betray me,” she tells him. “I trust you. Strange, I know, because the circumstances of our relationship haven’t been the greatest.”

Killian’s fingers lift to twirl a piece of her hair, releasing it as he caresses her jawline. “I apologize for that.”

“Don’t,” she shakes her head. “Without your push, I might not be here today. Becoming the _queen_.”

His smile spreads and Emma can’t help but mirror him. “You’re brilliant and beautiful and you’re brave. I have no doubt in my mind that you would’ve been able to do it without my help.”

She places her hands on his chest and slides them up to his face, pulling him toward her, their foreheads touching. Emma closes her eyes. “But I wouldn’t have been able to meet _you_.”

When he kisses her, she finally feels like everything is _right_ again.

Yeah, if fairytales were real, she’s pretty sure their story would go right up there next to Snow White and Prince Charming.


End file.
